“Somehow,” she thought, “all that isn’t enough.... That bond—that tie of sex alone—isn’t enough. Even love isn’t enough.... Perhaps there must be more obligation with it.”
§ ii
It was a charming Christmas. Claudine had her Christmas dinner decorously at home with her husband and various members of both families; there were all the proper presents and ceremonies, and she was happy. Happy because she could fly to Andrée in the afternoon. Her visits there were a secret of Polchinelle; Gilbert never mentioned them, nor Andrée. And yet to-day, as she was putting on her hat, he entered the bedroom and gave her a crumpled handful of bills.
“Buy something for her!” he said.
She was terribly touched, but she knew better than to show it.
“I will!” she said, brightly.
After he had gone, she smoothed out the bills and put them into an envelope, on which she wrote—“From Father.”
She gave it to Andrée with a smile.
“Is he coming round?” asked Andrée.
“I don’t know.”